The Sweetness of the Alien City
by The Goliath Beetle
Summary: Homesickness can be crippling. So can the flu. India has both. Luckily for him, Canada is an honorary state of the Indian Republic. - India, Canada, friendship fic- Rated for language.


The Sweetness of the Alien City

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 **A/N: Punjab is a state in India from where the large majority of Sikhs originate. There are so many Sikhs in Canada (the highest Sikh population in the world outside of India itself), that as a joke, us Indians refer to Canada as a 'Second Punjab'.**

 **Also, I attended this cultural exchange seminar for my German course, and it talked about how "Indians have a very people-oriented culture", far more than quite a few places (especially in the West). Which is very true. And it got me thinking that aph India also needs some interaction with his friends or he gets quite gloomy.**

 **When I told Immortal x Snow of this, she requested a fic with India and Canada about this. Naturally, I had to oblige. It is her birthday, after all :D**

 **Snow, m'love, have a wonderful birthday (I know you will, wink wink), and I hope you like this!**

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" _Our native soil draws all of us, by I know not what sweetness, and never allows us to forget."_ _  
_ _―_ _Ovid_ _,_ _The Poems of Exile: Tristia and the Black Sea Letters_

" _Homesickness hits hardest in the middle of a crowd in a large, alien city."  
― Christos Tsiolkas, Barracuda_

* * *

India didn't like Canada. Not the personification, the country. Oh, sure, it was beautiful. It was astoundingly beautiful. Green trees, crystal lakes, fresh air. It was just. It was the climate. Oh man, the climate. Cold weather wasn't completely foreign to him. It got really cold in India too, depending on where one was. But still, he didn't spend too much time in the Himayalas (his security detail would hardly let him; there was so much insurgency up there). But he was more adapted to heat. The initial blast of snow was refreshing, but it quickly gets old.

And it wasn't just that.

India…he almost hated to admit it, but he was actually a bit homesick.

Which was stupid.

He shouldn't have to be. He was his own home. The personification of his own damn country. Wherever he went, his country went with him. Right?

But he'd been travelling an awful lot lately. Business dealings in Europe and Australia, America, Britain, South East Asia, Afghanistan. The world was changing, fast, and it was all a growing economy like his needed to do to survive. It would be raining back home right now. It was summer in Canada. (Not that this counted as a freaking summer anyway. How were these teenage girls walking around in shorts? India was feeling so cold he thought he might be falling ill.)

And he was late to the damn world meeting, too. By an hour.

He was late sometimes, that was pretty normal for him. But by an _hour_?

He couldn't help it. He hadn't slept well the previous night, and woke up late, with a headache and a deep feeling of gloominess that he couldn't shake off. He was still feeling it, as he walked down from his hotel to the building where the meeting was being held. It was only a fifteen minute journey, and it didn't make sense to use the expensive public transport. As a nation personification, he could just request a car from his embassy, but he didn't want to cause trouble. They were pretty busy there anyway.

And so he walked, pulling his coat closer to him, tightening his scarf over his nose and ears, feeling miserable. Maybe he could just say he wasn't well, go back to the hotel and sleep. His head was still throbbing. He could do it. Everyone would understand.

…But it would just make him feel worse. India knew himself. This was less a problem with the weather and more a problem of loneliness. He needed human interaction with the other nations. But all of them had been so busy lately. He didn't want to be an imposition, and anyway, he had tons of paperwork to finish, too.

Just…ugh…

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. His current mood lay heavy on his chest, his head was throbbing, and he couldn't just sit in that stupid meeting and listen to presentations. He felt like crying. How utterly ridiculous.

Falling onto the nearest bench, India sniffled deeply, biting the insides of his cheeks, because hell no, he couldn't burst into tears in the middle of the street. He was standing out enough: the foreigner wearing a coat in the middle of summer. He wasn't going to blubber like a baby.

He'd just…he'd head back to the hotel room, lock himself inside, calm down and then rest. It wouldn't take away the gloominess but at least it would be a little more private.

Or…the world meeting building was right around the corner. He'd walked all this way. He might as well just -

No. Whatever. Never mind.

So he just sat there on that bench, watching people go by for twenty minutes.

He just rolled his eyes in exasperation when he recognised the person coming up to him. Great. Busted.

"India? Are you…" Canada's voice trailed off. "I guess not."

Canada the Person had always endeared to India somehow. The fact that so many of his people had been allowed to build their lives there…and that the new PM Trudeau had been so _sweet_ about wishing Sikhs on their festival, Baishaki. Maybe the only thing he didn't like about Canada was the weather, then.

"Shouldn't you be at the meeting?" India snapped. Why did he just snap? Why was he feeling so aggressive? So defensive? He really would like to just relax with somebody. So why was he yelling at the first person to actually _look_ at him in weeks?

To his credit, Canada just raised his eyebrows in honest surprise. "Well, shouldn't you? It's the break now, I stepped out to buy a croissant."

"Oh." India felt tears threaten again. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

"Seriously, India, what's going on?" Canada slid next to him on the bench. "You look terrible. Are you sick?" Without waiting for a response, he placed an uncovered hand on India's forehead. "You're a bit warm, you know. You shouldn't be sitting out here if you have a fever." Eyes widening in concern, he added, "is your country all right?"

"It's fine," India replied through gritted teeth. "Chugging along."

 _Go_ , he silently ordered. _Leave me alone to wallow._ "Aren't you getting a croissant?"

"Oh, right." Canada pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes. It seemed more like a token gesture. Just something he did now and then while figuring something out in his head. Then Canada stood, and India dared to exhale a short sigh of relief.

"Let's go together. Have you eaten?"

 _No. Too depressed to eat._

"Yeah. At the hotel."

The quiet man in front of him just looked at India as though he didn't quite believe him. India didn't know what it was about the kid's gaze. It wasn't openly mocking or cynical. It just seemed…well, a bit knowing. Innocent too, somehow. Although they were countries. They'd lost any semblance of innocence centuries ago.

"Actually, you know, there's an Indian restaurant nearby that I've been wanting to try. I'd love it if you joined me. Who better than the personification of the country to tell me if the food is authentic, eh?" His grin was small, a little sheepish, and all too welcoming. It almost managed to push past India's sudden hostility. Almost.

But his sour mood fell on him again like a blindfold. Irritation rose up to his lips as he glibly stated, "look, I don't need your pity. Go get your croissant. I'm just...enjoying the pleasant weather."

Maybe that did it for Canada, because his kindness somewhat hardened. "You're a strange shade of grey, you know," he shot back.

Time to bullshit.

"In my culture, a grey palour to the skin is considered a sign of wisdom." Gods above, what rubbish. India would have laughed at the words leaving his mouth if he wasn't feeling so utterly miserable.

"Ah, I see. Sorry." Canada raised both hands before him, a sign of surrender. "But in _my_ culture, grey skin is a sign of _shit something's wrong_ , and since we're in _my_ country, I'd appreciate if you respect my culture and come with me to eat."

Interesting. India had never seen this one so…acerbic. He knew Canada meant well, and he believed England when he said the boy was a lot edgier than the world gave him credit for.

"You know," Canada added, his voice softer and lacking any anger. "England told me that in India, eating alone isn't considered very…good."

Fucking England always messing up his life.

"Well, not exactly," India conceded. "A lot of people would feel a bit…" _damn it, I've been check-mated,_ "lonely. I guess that's changing with the new generation, but…yeah, we don't…um…normally eat meals alone."

Canada smiled, not in the cruel, mocking way of a victor, but an honest-to-goodness friendly smile. "So then let's eat together. My brothers are being insufferable as usual, and if there's anyone who knows some hilarious secret about England, it's you. I'd love some blackmail material."

Even India's mood couldn't stop him from snorting at that one. Whatever people said about Canada, the kid was a genius at arguments.

"All right." India stood, his head lurched, the world spun for a second, and he groaned. "Let's…walk slowly."

"Sure." Canada fell into step beside him. India loved that he was so companionably quiet. It sort of eased things. For one, it didn't make his headache worse, and secondly, India didn't feel like he had to listen and keep track of an actual conversation. It was just human company, and that was enough.

The Indian restaurant they were going to was called _Mini Punjab_ – India chuckled.

"What?" Canada asked, glancing at him.

"Nothing, just reminds me of an old joke."

"Do tell." Canada pushed the doors open, letting India enter first. They found a table by the window.

"Well, in India, we sometimes call Canada a second Punjab," he explained, smiling from the folds of his scarf. "Because you have so many Punjabis, and so you're basically another Indian state now."

Canada just blinked for a second, and then he burst into loud laughter. India's amber eyes widened in surprise. It was silly of him to assume that Canada was always just quiet and docile. America had, after all, told India stories about how bloodthirsty Canada could get while playing hockey. So sure, he was perfectly capable of laughing like this.

…And if India was being honest with himself, Canada's mirth was infectious. He found himself smiling along too.

The waitress who approached was distinctly of South Asian origin. But was she Punjabi? Did she know Punjabi? India suddenly felt a violent ache to speak one of his languages. How long had it been since he'd just kicked back at home and spoken the words he'd grown up with?

"Welcome to _Mini-Punjab_ ," she greeted, handing them menu cards. Her accent was disappointingly Canadian. Of course it was. Maybe her parents could speak Punjabi. Or maybe she was Pakistani instead. She'd naturalised as Canadian either way, so India couldn't pin-point her nationality.

The gloom, absent for a few peaceful minutes, swooped right back in. Rubbing his temples, India dropped the menu card onto the table without even reading it.

" _One Murg Malaiwala with rice, please, and water, thank you._ "

It was only when he opened his eyes to two identically bewildered faces of Canada and the waitress, did India realise he'd spoken in Punjabi. Shit.

Any appetite he had evaporated.

"Just water for me," he muttered in English. "Thanks."

"That's _it_? Come on," Canada cajoled. "Look, share something with me. I don't really know what to pick, anyway. Help me choose."

The worst part of being _with_ someone in a fit of depression was that they'd seldom let you fall as deeply as you wanted. India couldn't just crumble and sulk, not when he had Canada around. It would be rude.

"Do you have," he gritted out through an increasingly throbbing headache, "Murg Malaiwala?"

"Oh, absolutely," the waitress replied.

Thank fuck.

"So that, with rice. For two people. And water. Thank you."

"I'll have an orange juice, actually," Canada added, smiling as he handed over the menu cards to the waitress. "Thanks a lot."

"Sure. Thank you." As she walked away, Canada leaned across the table.

"Would you like to indulge in my free healthcare?"

He said it so seriously that India raised his head and snorted. " _Indulge in my free healthcare –_ who says something like that?"

"Someone who is proud of their free healthcare," Canada replied with the same impassively serious expression.

India laughed softly, but then shook his head (a bad idea, but he ignored the sudden, startling burst of pain.) "I'm okay. I've been through a lot worse." Still, he was beginning to feel clammy.

"Why, exactly, are you being the tough guy?"

Right to the point then. Okay.

"No idea," India replied, because how could he possible phrase into words the feeling of dread, that he'd missed so much of the world meeting today, and that he had so much paperwork, and all he wanted to do was curl up on the floor of his hotel room and cry his eyes out and get dangerously drunk because he was feeling lonely like he hadn't felt in a long, long while and homesick to his stomach and miserable because he was obviously falling ill with the flu or something and he had to keep a straight face because he was trying to transform his image to his investors in the West, he needed them to take him seriously, it just wouldn't _do_ for him to be feeling like this, because everybody always expected India to fuck up, and he expected himself to fuck up, and he walked a thin line between confidence and self-loathing every single day and he was just _tired_ , dammit, he needed a break.

Canada tilted his head to the side, his blue-purple eyes perhaps noticing more to those two words than India allowed himself to reveal. Finally, he just sighed and asked, "England blackmail. Got anything?"

Lapsing into silence for a moment, India stared out of the window at the busy street outside and replied, "well, there was that one time in the thirties when he accidentally bit into a red chilly and started crying from his eyes _and_ his nose, if you know what I mean." Grinning in a strangely subdued way, he added, "I'd feel bad, but this happened after he was posturing about being the greatest empire in the world and how no matter what I did, I'd never be independent, so stop trying."

"Oh, ouch." Wincing in sympathy, Canada added, "I mean, I don't know how I'd last against a hot red chilly."

"That's okay, I mean, I can't handle your climate. It's just what we're used to. The difference is you didn't colonise me and drain me of my wealth so I don't have anything against you." Smiling, he went on, "I mean, if anything, my people are colonising _you_ , huh? How does it feel to be a state of the Indian Republic?"

"I'm honoured," Canada quipped as the water and orange juice arrived. "Does this mean I get to have a different birthday? 15th August, right?"

"Mmh, sure, if you want."

"I might genuinely take you up on that." Grinning at India from the rim of his orange juice glass, he said, "Since our birthdays are so close, Alfred's usually more excited for his to really engage much in mine. It's kind of annoying. But he's an idiot."

"You can say that about any country, ever."

"Oh yeah?"

"England's an idiot – for so many reasons. America's a warmongering idiot. You're a snowed-in, hockey idiot. I'm a chilly idiot. China's a communist idiot. Russia's a scary idiot. France is a creepy idiot. We're all idiots. It's a wonder the planet has survived."

Once more, Canada blinked before laughing. "I really have to ask," he managed through fits of giggles, "how high has that fever of yours become?"

"Not high enough that you have to worry."

"You've been unusually subdued lately." Canada didn't look at him. He was folding a paper napkin into little triangles. "I noticed even yesterday and the day before that."

"I'm at the end of my tether," India finally admitted. "I'll be fine. Just give me time."

"What's up?"

"A lot."

"In one word?"

"Homesickness."

Canada looked up from his paper triangles, brows going up in sympathy. "I'm sorry. I totally get it. It really sucks. It seems like such a small thing but it can become so all-consuming. Especially for us nations, you know? Because we're so tied to the places we come from. How long have you been travelling for?"

A hollow laugh. "Months. Sometimes with the PM. Mostly without, so I'm all alone. Which…I'll be honest, I don't like. And it's always work, so we're never just _chatting_ with host countries. It's always _discussing_. Nuclear deals and the economy and whatever. Stuff that you have to be careful about, because one wrong word could send the whole thing spiralling sideways."

Sinking back into his chair, Canada grinned. "So let's chat."

"I'm pretty sure the break is over and you need to get back."

"The food hasn't come yet, so I'm not going anywhere. You really are trying to push me away. How odd for you."

"Fuck." India jumped to his feet. "Excuse me."

He managed to make it to the toilets just in time to throw up into a commode. His head was _screaming_ in agony and he could feel the floor sway and move like he were on a ship and not in the middle of Ottawa.

Canada was already waiting for him by the basins when India stumbled out, barely managing to stay upright. He wanted to be home so badly right now…if ever he might embarrassingly burst into tears, it would be at this minute. But no, he needed all his energy to walk. And no, he wasn't going to let Canada help. It was too humiliating. He swatted away the boy's hand.

Rinsing his mouth out, India kept his eyes shut. His vision was making things a lot worse. Making him sway just a bit more.

"I'm going to take you to the hotel. Gonna ask them to pack up the food."

"Please don't." Staggering, India leaned against the wall. His voice was ragged. "I'm fine. Sorry. Let's just sit for a while." He'd wanted to get back to the room, right? Now what was stopping him? Sheer foolish pride?

"You're going to hate me for saying this," Canada muttered after a moment, "but you're acting a bit like England."

Well, that hurt.

Pulling India forward by the arm, Canada gently led him out. "We're leaving. And don't argue."

* * *

"You're definitely late for the meeting," India muttered, sinking into his gloriously soft hotel room bed.

"Who cares. Just everyone blowing their own trumpets. Besides, I don't have to present anything myself today, so I can skip." Canada sat by the little table and opened the boxes of food. "This looks good!"

The smell of chicken assaulted India head on, and he buried his head under the blanket. His stomach really was fully empty, now that he'd barfed up yesterday's dinner, too. But Canada was right. He did have to eat and take something for his flu, or he really would have to 'indulge in his free healthcare'.

For his part, Canada didn't ask for permission. He just handed India a plate with a small quantity of rice and chicken gravy. Perhaps not the lightest thing to eat right after throwing up, but whatever. Neither of them were going to let it go to waste, after all.

Canada's face lit up when he took the first bite. "This is – to quote Prussia – _awesome._ What do you think? Is it legit?"

India spooned the rice moodily. "Looks legit." Sniffed it. "Smells legit enough." He took a small, tentative bite and swallowed. "Yeah, it's okay. I think I'd add different proportions of things, but it's not a disaster."

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, before Canada piped up again. "Do you get Poutine in India?"

"Not that I know of. I did once go to this café where they had Poutine on their menu, but it had some weird cabbage stuff on it."

" _What_?"

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting that, having eaten it here before." He let out a tired chuckle. "It didn't taste bad, actually. But it definitely wasn't authentic."

From the corner of his eye, India watched Canada shudder, and he couldn't help but be amused. He was the same way when it came to his own cuisine. But so was everybody. It was in the nature of people to be puritan about their food. Nothing better represented the comforts of home.

"So, what now?" Canada stared out of the bedroom window. "Do you have any aspirin? Or I can run out and buy something."

"No, no, I've got some in my briefcase there."

Swallowing the offered pill, India narrowed his eyes. "Don't keep vigil or something. I'll probably just nod off for a while. You should go back to the meeting."

"Okay." Canada patted India's shoulder. "I won't tell them. I'll just say I lost track of time. Which I did."

"Sorry."

"What, no! I meant that in a good way. I enjoy relaxing with you. You're very chipper."

"Not today."

"I don't expect you to _always_ be chipper, stupid," Canada retorted playfully. "But get some sleep. I'll take notes for you."

"You're a very useful state in my Republic," India joked.

Laughing, Canada replied, "yes, Second Punjab has it all under control for you. Sleep well!"

As Canada closed the room door after him, India sank into the covers, shutting his eyes, hoping that he might finally rest.

* * *

 **A/N: This turned out a lot more differently. And a lot longer. Initially I was going to make it funnier, but the fic sort of took on a tone of its own. Regardless, I'm actually quite pleased.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **And Snow, I hope you love it, and that I could do Canada justice for you :D (Since there is nobody I know who can write Matthew better!) Love you, bella :)**


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